


Idle Thoughts

by Gwynne



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:25:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gwynne/pseuds/Gwynne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gregor has a moment of realisation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idle Thoughts

It happened during a Council of Counts session. Not a venue normally distinguished by original thought, but it did allow plenty of time for the mind to roam free. Lord knows, you wouldn’t want to think about what was actually going on in front of you.

Gregor wore his attentive and thoughtful expression, a dead giveaway to those who knew him well. His mind was far away, and accelerating fast. Fortunately, out of the assembled notables present, only Miles knew him well enough to realise that Gregor wasn’t totally focussed on the problems of raising sheep on the Southern Continent. Since those problems involved the need for large amounts of government funds – in this case to build suitable sheep dips, apparently, and to make tax concessions for the end product – the discussion was spirited. Which is a political euphemism for ‘stopping just short of attempted murder’.

Miles, naturally, was having a wonderful time. Since the topic didn’t concern him, Vorkosigan lands, or any security interests, he was able to buzz around like a gadfly bothering each side without caring much about the outcome. Votes were being traded, deals made, there was a happy rumble of discussion and influence-trading going on all around while the speakers droned on at the assembly, each one convinced that he was the voice of reason.

“Perhaps the Honourable Counts are unaware of the many dangerous ailments known to sheep…”

The Emperor, of course, couldn’t wheel and deal. Yet one more limit to his freedom. Gregor was busy having a ‘my life sucks’ moment. And he still wasn’t used to Aral’s absence. Having Miles in council was entertaining, for sure, but Gregor missed his former Prime Minister. His loss was definitely Sergyar’s gain.

“…Scours, Bloody Flux, fly blown, Greasy Ear….”

Loss. He lost everyone, sooner or later. Slowly his thoughts slid from Morose to Glum, then headed for Miserable.

“….and then there’s the many problems with their feet…”

He’d been stuck with this lousy job for thirty years. By rights he should still be Crown Prince. Crown Princes get to stay in the military. They can have some kind of real career. They can go out without giving Impsec collective heart failure. They can walk into a shop, or a bar. Walk down a damn street. Fly a lightflyer. Have friends. Do stupid things now and then.

“…and infections from docking their tails…”

The list in his head grew, a familiar litany of the pleasures that would be forever denied to him. Emperors don’t get to do those things.

“…not to mention the problems with insect infestations…”

If his father had lived, Gregor could have spent years as Crown Prince, and had a life.

If his father had lived…

That’s where the daydream always hit a rock and sank with all hands. Because if his father had lived, things would have been very different indeed, and not just for Gregor.

“…and then we have the problems with breeding …”

If Serg had lived and become Emperor…

Just a few metres away, through several strong walls, was the museum. And on prominent display were a few bits of Mad Yuri. A constant object lesson, take note, that’s what happens when Emperors get it cataclysmically wrong.

What parts of Serg would have been on display there, if he’d made it back from Escobar?

“…tails, and of course docking the young males…”

How long would he have lasted before the knives came out? And what would history have called him – Serg the Twisted? Vile Serg? Serg the – no, no name could be bad enough. Gregor took a deep breath to steady his thoughts. Yes, Serg would have earned a nickname, for sure.

“…enough champion rams…”

And eventually, after far too much blood was spent, he’d have been deposed and executed, after a suitably long and turbulent civil war. Who would be Emperor in his place? Would they have let Gregor take the throne? Or would Vordarian or Vordrozda have made a grab for it? Or would they have put Aral there, kicking and screaming? Probably Aral, in the end, unless Aral forced them to let Gregor take the throne. Not that he wanted it.

“…standing to stud…”

How many lives would have been lost before Barrayar was finally free of Serg? The Vordarian Pretendership cost eight or nine thousand, plus half as many again on Komarr. Serg would have been more costly. He’d have had Ges Vorrutyer at his side, the political ministries and Grishnov whispering in his ear. Maybe ‘Serg the puppet’ would have been his title in the end.

“…enough abattoirs needed…”

Yes, it was a blessing for Barrayar that Serg hadn’t survived Escobar. Ges Vorrutyer’s death was a bonus.

Which wrapped up the Imperium like a huge Winterfair gift and deposited it firmly on top of a helpless child. At least Ezar had made sure he had Aral and Cordelia, he’d never have survived without them.

“…slaughtering as humanely as possible…”

Ezar… what had Ezar thought when Serg died? Had he known about Serg’s… habits? Of course he did, Ezar knew everything.

If Ezar knew everything, he knew the invasion of Escobar had almost no chance of success.

“….breeding for meat as well as wool…”

So then why had he let that doomed expedition go in the first place? Even without the plasma mirrors there’d been practically no chance of success. And letting Serg and Vorrutyer do the strategy and tactics, while relegating Aral Vorkosigan, one of the most brilliant strategic minds Barrayar had ever produced, to planning the retreat – it was a massive error.

But… Ezar didn’t make errors. Not like that, not on that scale.

Escobar was an error.

Ezar didn’t make errors.

So Escobar was… on purpose?

“… need to plan ahead for future meat needs…”

Why would Ezar allow, even condone, a hugely expensive, doomed, stupid invasion? Ezar was many things, but not stupid. According to Aral, Ezar’s main failing was that he didn’t think galactically. So losing friendly relations with Escobar didn’t feature in his cost analysis.

“…environmental problems…”

Gregor controlled a shiver. He had a cold chill deep inside. He didn’t want to follow this train of thought.

He couldn’t stop it.

“…impact on future land usage…”

Ezar knew the invasion would fail. Ezar sent Aral along to save as many men as he could from that failure. Ezar knew his son, he knew Ges was using Serg’s overweening ambition as well as his many vices to keep control. And he knew Serg’s ambition would put him in the front lines for what he expected to be a crowning victory.

But Ezar knew it would fail. With his son in the front lines.

Gregor was still, frozen, presenting a face of perfect calm as his mind raced to the inevitable conclusion.

Ezar sent his son out there to die.

And five thousand others to see him to the gates of Hell.

“…need to manage the numbers to get maximum value…”

Gregor waited for the shock, the horror, to wash through him. But, oddly, it didn’t come. He knew about Serg’s vile nature already. He knew Ezar was ruthless in his drive to protect the Empire.

Ezar killed five thousand of Barrayaran’s finest young men to save the Empire. He wouldn’t even figure in the Escobaran and Betan deaths, or the cost to Barrayar’s galactic standing in the future. Soldiers exist to serve, they served. Probably saved twice as many more from death in the war it would have taken to get rid of Serg. Simple Imperial mathematics.

“…my honourable colleague is ignoring the problems with equipment financing…”

But … it didn’t stop there.

Aral… the finest strategist of his time. He must have worked this out too – if Gregor could, then Aral had been before him, decades before him. And he’d never even hinted at it to Gregor.

“….on the contrary, my honourable colleague is overlooking the costs involved to the rest of the community…”

Even more, Aral must have known this while it was happening. He’d known all the players in this vile drama, he had to figure it out.

The horror was close now. Gregor knew there was one more thought, one more step. One chill realisation. And he couldn’t stop.

“…we need to take a longer view…”

Aral knew before it happened. Aral was always Ezar’s man, blood and breath. Aral was part of the plan.

Aral wasn’t there to help men survive. He was there to make sure Serg did not.

Aral killed Gregor’s father.

And then he raised Serg’s son.

“…we are setting up an industry that will support our children in the future…”

Gregor turned the thought in his mind. The man he admired most in the world had disposed of Crown Prince Serg. Ruthlessly, efficiently, implacably.

Aral…

For a while all thoughts stopped. Aral. Aral killed Serg. Assassinated him, using an entire planetary invasion to cover his tracks.

“…possibility of selective breeding to encourage valued traits…”

Ezar ordered it. Gregor’s grandfather had his father killed, the winner in their imperial contest of mutual annihilation. One more warp in his twisted genetics. And then Gregor, great-nephew of a homicidal maniac, grandson of a mass murderer, son of a foul pervert, was raised by his grandfather’s favourite assassin.

Rock bottom.

“…not an industry we can afford to lose…”

Aral knew. Aral did it. The words just kept running around his brain.

Aral killed Serg.

Say it again. Serg, father, Crown Prince. Future emperor. Aral blasted him to plasma as surely as if he’d hit the button himself.

Aral. Killed Serg. Aral killed my father.

Gregor closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out the world around him. He had to be alone with this.

Aral killed. Serg.

Gregor took a deep breath.

“…in closing, gentlemen, I say, the sheep is our friend…”

He opened his eyes again. Nothing was different around him, except his whole world.

He could say the words in his head without shuddering now.

Aral killed Serg.

Thank the gods.


End file.
